


The Ravenclaw Girl

by Delphi



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Blackmail, Bribery, F/M, Literary Reference, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-23
Updated: 2006-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:25:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of the Pergamon anecdote from Petronius' <i>Satyricon</i> set during <i>Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban</i>. Mr. Filch attempts to have his way with a young student, only to have the tables turned on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ravenclaw Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Carrot](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Carrot).



> Written for the 2006 Squib Secrets exchange on the Squibbed community (LJ).

When Argus Filch first came to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to take over the position of Caretaker, he found it a most pleasant change in circumstance, on first account because his lodgings—if not his duties—were comfortable and respectable, and on second account because of the veritable wealth of beautiful young bodies that filled his every waking moment.

He could not decide whether it was a blessing or a curse that no matter how much older he grew, the girls remained the same age, from the slim-hipped first years, nigh indistinguishable from the boys, to full-blooded young women sitting their OWLs and NEWTs. And, of course, those he liked the best, the ones just in between in the sweet first bloom of youth.

Out of necessity, Argus had honed the following method to prevent the staff from ever suspecting which direction his gaze was prone to wandering: besides expressing his general disgust at the hygiene and habits of the student body, whenever the conversation in the staff room turned to the topic of lechery towards youth, he would grumble so indignantly and resort to such salty and derisive language that he came to be regarded, particularly by sharp-eyed Professor McGonagall, as a staunch defender of the virtue of young girls. Thus no eyebrows were ever raised when he lingered outside the girls' changing room with mop and bucket, nor when he let himself into the common rooms on his nightly patrols on the pretence of looking out for canoodling couples.

Caution curtailed his activities to mere voyeurism, or perhaps the barest touch that might be passed off as an accidental stumble. That is, until he made the acquaintance of one Luna Lovegood.

She was an odd little creature, not quite all there, but what parts of her were more than excused it. A lovely blonde, fair and delicate, a wisp of a thing who flitted through the school with an absent smile on her pretty peach lips—a smile more than once turned his way when she cornered him in the corridors, asking if he had seen the Lethifold hiding in the fourth floor boys' toilet or cheerfully noting that the banisters were very shiny today.

She had kissed him once, in her first year, straining up on her tiptoes for the softest brush against his cheek. "The portraits say very nice things about you," she'd cheerfully chirped before skipping along on her way.

Understandably, that occurrence still happened to be fresh in his mind a year later, during the beastly business with Sirius Black and Dementors creeping around his castle unseen. The Christmas holiday had come with its usual sickening cheer, and Argus was beginning it locked in his office with Mrs. Norris when a tentative tap came at his door. He hurled it open, a snarl on his lips, only to find the little Lovegood girl standing at his doorstep with a forlorn expression, dressed in a white lace nightdress that fell to her deliciously bare feet.

He narrowed his eyes, peering up and down the empty corridor in search of any conspirators or spies. "What do you want, girlie?"

The girl looked up at him with wide, pale eyes. "Good evening, Mr. Filch. Can you come to my bedroom, please?"

For a moment after the startling request, all Argus could hear was a faint buzzing in his ears. He opened his mouth. He sputtered. He looked out into the corridor again, finding it once again empty. "Wha—wha—_what_?"

The girl did not so much as blink, and Argus found himself staring in bafflement as her straight, white teeth pressed into her lower lip. "Everyone else has gone home for Christmas—can you come look under my bed, to make sure Sirius Black isn't hiding under there?"

Argus regarded her, nonplussed. "I don't think Sirius Black can fit under your bed, girlie."

She met his gaze with childish patience. "He could have taken a Skelesquish Potion. Or he could be an Animagus. He could be a mouse, or a rat, or a dachshund." She crooked a fair brow, a touch reproachful. "Do you mean to say a dachshund couldn't fit under my bed? It could—I measured."

He snorted despite himself, his eyes admittedly roving in an attempt to glimpse whatever could be glimpsed beneath the neckline of her nightdress. "Professor Flitwick too busy, so you come and bother old Filch?"

The girl appeared to find this silly, as though the answer should be obvious. "Professor Flitwick would bring the Dementors in to look. I don't like them." The poor thing shivered.

Argus glanced back at his cup of tea cooling on the desk and then to the girl's toes curling against the cold floor. He sighed, digging out his Beater's bat from the cupboard. "Only just quick."

Young Luna put her hand in his and smiled brightly as she led him up to the empty second year dormitory of Ravenclaw Tower and dangerous privacy. Once there, she leapt onto the middle bed and knelt up to watch as he made a close inspection of every corner. He opened cupboards and checked the latches on the windows, his joints popping as he stooped to peer under every bed before proclaiming it safe.

The girl wriggled under the covers, giving him a glimpse of bare leg. "Will you stay until I fall asleep?"

He would. He came to sit at the edge of the bed, watching as she curled up, her hair spread across the white pillow. She smiled sweetly at him before closing her eyes.

"God," he muttered when her breath had evened out, uncomfortably flushed.

He caught the flutter of eyelashes and gave a guilty start, very nearly leaping to his feet to take his leave before his thoughts could descend any further, but the hour and the quiet had planted the seed of a wicked idea into his head. She was a silly girl, prone to flights of fancy. If she thought she heard something she hadn't, who would believe it?

"God..." He carefully wet his lips. "God, if you let me kiss her without her knowing, I—I'll buy her a whole sackful o' Honeydukes' best."

The quick catch of her breath certainly wasn't imagined, but she made no sign of stirring. His heart beating quickly, Argus leaned down and gently pressed his mouth to hers, stealing a fleeting kiss and then one that lingered, the tip of his tongue tracing the petal-soft curve of her lips.

Shortly after, he ducked into an empty classroom on the route back to his apartments, locking the door behind him, and opened the straining placket of his trousers. He jerked himself off with desperate strokes, spilling his seed into a manky old handkerchief, the girl's sweet image fresh in his mind and his lips still warm.

When the next morning came, he kept his vow and braved even the Dementors at the gate, setting out for Honeydukes in the early light with a full purse on his belt. By the time the girl woke, he was back to his office, and an overflowing bag of sweets was waiting outside her door.

He might have satisfied himself with that for another year or more, the memory carefully preserved and cherished, as vivid as the moment itself. However, when night came, Luna once again came knocking at his door. His knees nearly gave out the moment he laid eyes upon her, once again in her white nightdress, this time with her lips stained red and stretched around a fat cherry-pop on a stick.

Out came the bat, and with a racing pulse he again followed the girl up the long and winding stairway to poke around every corner of her room as she gently bounced on the bed. This time, after pleading for him to stay, she immediately shut her eyes.

Argus plucked up his daring, quietly murmuring: "God...you let me touch her without her waking up, and I'll buy her..." He paused, looking around the room, and suddenly recalled the girl's tenderness with Mrs. Norris. "...I'll buy her a kitten."

Luna immediately feigned a soft snore.

Nearly trembling with excitement, Argus turned down the blankets and gazed hungrily upon the girl's slim body. His hands began at her ankles, moving slowly up smooth legs, drawing the skirt of her nightdress up to her hips, where he discovered with a hard twitch of his cock that she did not wear any knickers to sleep.

Teasing himself with anticipation, he let his touch wandered slowly up under the fabric, over her flat stomach to the budding swell of her breasts. His eyes squeezed shut in breathless bliss as his hands fit around them. The girl's breath quickened as he softly kneaded them, brushing his thumbs over her nipples until they stiffened.

He felt a crop of gooseflesh springing up on her skin as his fingers trailed back down, pausing at her mound. He swallowed hard as he encountered the scant, downy hair that covered it, not yet coarse or curling. Her thighs parted at the faintest touch, and he nearly moaned when he found a hint of wetness.

His fingers slipped between the lips of her cunny, rubbing the soft folds. He heard her gasp as he found the little bud at the top of it, fondling it until she squirmed. Below, he discovered to his delight that her maidenhead wasn't closed, and a finger eased into her tight heat to the knuckle.

Unable to control his ardour and fearing he would burst his buttons, he hurriedly opened his trousers, stroking himself as he stretched her with a second finger. He couldn't have been expected to last long, not as the girl's lashes fluttered and her mouth shaped a soft 'o', her body tightening up around his fingers as they pressed deep. He came with a grating gasp, his grip moving wildly around his cock until he'd spilt himself all over the girl's quilt.

He cursed under his breath—as soon as he had his breath back—and scrubbed at the mess with his handkerchief. His hand eased out from between the girl's thighs, fingers wet and sticky. He breathed in the salty-sweet scent of her juices and then licked his fingers clean with a rapturous sigh.

The next day, Argus left the pet shop with a snow-white kitten tucked into his coat and his purse noticeably lighter.

By the third evening, he was already by the door, scrubbed up clean with a prophylactic potion and a belt of whisky in his belly, waiting for Luna to come knocking. He carefully kept his hands to himself as she took the stairs in front of him, her pert little backside pinned in his line of sight. He made a hurried search of her room, neither of them making any comment as to the origins of the kitten sleeping in a basket in the corner. This time, when she had curled up expectantly in bed, he could not silence the note of smugness in his voice as he prayed: "God, you let me have my way with her without her waking, and I'll buy her a..."

He hesitated, his passion so fired that he might have promised her a dragon's hoard in exchange for what he lusted after.

"...portable astrolabe," the girl suddenly whispered, then obediently snored.

Argus nodded eagerly. "I'll buy her a portable astrolabe—_if_ she don't wake up."

She lay very still as he took down his trousers and climbed under the covers with her, finding her limp as a doll when he divested her of her nightdress. His hands roamed hungrily over her naked skin; he kissed her lips, her throat, her breasts, slurping and suckling at her nipples. Never had the girl had to strain so to keep up her illusion, breathing hard and quick beneath him as his hand moved between her thighs, making her wet, making her squirm. His passion was too inflamed to even enter her, and he found his pleasure between her thighs, teased with the moist heat of her as he came all over her innocent skin.

He kissed her goodnight before he left.

Now it happened on the fourth evening that the Lovegood girl did not come down to his office asking for his services, and Argus strongly suspected that he knew the cause, for while procuring sweets and kittens was a relatively small matter, he had quickly discovered that even a small astrolabe was something difficult and dear to find in Hogsmeade, and besides, he had begun to worry that such a valuable gift might invite questions from Professor Flitwick or the girl's daddy dearest.

Still, emboldened by his previous successes, he crept up to Ravenclaw Tower and, finding the common room deserted, proceeded up the now-beloved stairs to the second year girls' dormitory. He found the girl in her bed, chewing on a lock of her hair as she turned a page of that rag, The Quibbler.

She looked up at his entrance, giving him a bright smile as she tucked the paper away, and strained up eagerly as though to peer behind his back. "Did you bring my astrolabe?"

Argus fidgeted with his coat. "...what are you on about, girlie?"

To his worsening luck, the girl obviously had enough wits about her today to see through his answer, and a fetching—but ill-boding —pout appeared, the resentment of betrayal clear upon her face.

Sensing with unease a door slamming shut, he crossed the room and took his now-accustomed place at her side and urged her to go to sleep, even going so far as to fold his hands and once more entreat God to grant him pleasure for pleasure. The girl was unmoved, however.

"You're a liar, Mr. Filch," she said crisply, and she turned her back on him.

He touched her shoulder pitifully, but she only stiffened. "Go away, Mr. Filch, or I'll tell Professor Dumbledore."

Had the name she invoked been that of her Head of House, or of her beloved father, he might not have done what he did next. But this ultimate threat in the face of his earlier generosity so inflamed his temper that he pounced upon her with a growl, pinning her wrists down on the bed and holding her still between his knees. He fought to get his belt off against her struggles and then looped it in a clumsy knot to bind her hands to the headboard. One hand proceeded to hike up her nightdress and start in on his trousers as the other pressed tightly over her mouth, muffling any sound she might have tried to make.

The swiftness of his arousal swept him up in surprise as he kicked his trousers off and forced open her legs, rubbing against her until her hot little cunny grew slick.

She squealed when he pushed inside her, her high moan almost inaudible behind his hand and his own rough grunt, but he swore it held the indisputable shape of _I'm telling the headmaster!_ and it spurred him on to take his pleasure as roughly as he cared to, the tight, wet grip of her making short work of his restraint: a dozen rough, rutting thrusts. Perhaps two.

It was not until he had climbed off her, chest heaving, his cock hanging spent and wet, that the gravity of the situation settled firmly upon his shoulder. With great trepidation, he removed his hand from her mouth, ready to replace it in a flash should she utter the softest accusation.

However, the girl seemed to have found a certain pleasure in the act, for her thighs pressed together in search of a wanton wriggle rather than modesty, and after a pouting protest that some little bint called Marcie Stewart would call her a liar for boasting about an imminent new astrolabe, she whispered, "Still, you can do that again if you like. _I'm_ not stingy."

So, despite his heartbeat not yet even having slowed, Argus seized upon the invitation, his hands making free with her warm young form, rekindling his passion. He made her cheeks pink with the rub of his five o'clock scruff, pinched and nibbled her nipples red, and cleaned up the mess he made between her thighs, giving her a wicked thrill. The hot, salty taste of her and her sweet, kitten-like mews renewed his vigour in record time, and soon he once again had her ankles around his ears as he drove into her—with rather more huffing and puffing—the both of them gasping until he shuddered and hitched and came.

He slumped down on top of her, face between her budding breasts as he fought to catch his breath, but the little nymphet was not to be satisfied with merely one repetition. He had barely regained his proper vision when a small, shapely foot nudged him in the ribs.

"That's...that's not it, is it?" she asked, so prettily that he could not refuse her.

So, a touch wearily, he returned himself to his efforts, earning himself a dry tongue and stiff jaw for an hour of her sweet little noises before resting his head on her thigh and closing his eyes.

He was awoken with a pinch not five minutes later. He squinted up at the girl, who apparently hadn't had the slightest trouble slipping her wrists free from his belt. She was sitting up, her nightdress done away with entirely, and he hissed as she un-gently toyed with his flaccid cock, which at the moment felt limp and nearly bruised with overexertion.

"Again, please," she ordered simply, causing him to roll off the bed with a groan, wheezing as he searched for his trousers despite her pleading protests.

He shook his head in defeat, certain that somewhere in the heavens—or in the Headmaster's Tower—some higher power was enjoying a good laugh at his expense.

"Go to sleep, girlie..." he managed to rasp, reclaiming his belt and limping bowlegged for the door and much-needed rest, "...or I'll tell Professor Dumbledore!"


End file.
